The House Of The Bears

The House Of The Bears by John Creasey Page B

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Authors: John Creasey
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went on talking. Palfrey looked round and could see heads outlined against the roof, but could recognize no one.
    ‘Take off your hat,’ he whispered to Drusilla.
    She obeyed without question; Palfrey removed his.
    ‘We’ll see the first show and then duck for it,’ said Palfrey. ‘If I read this fellow aright, he’ll switch the light off when we’ve finished this one, and get us all worked up and eerie; he knows his job. That will be our best chance, I think.’
    Drusilla felt for his hand. Palfrey squeezed.
    ‘Now, ladies and gentlemen–’ said the guide.
    Palfrey edged towards the far side, to put as many people between himself and Snub as he could. Drusilla still clutched his hand. People were too interested to worry; several were moving about to get a better position, and his own movements were not noticeable. He looked at Drusilla, The light was concentrated on The Fonts, famous stalagmite basins, and was not bright enough for him to see her clearly, and she was close by him; Snub, some distance away, could not possibly pick them out. He squeezed Drusilla’s fingers, and whispered: ‘This is it.’
    The light went out.
    There was still a dim light, but they could not see a yard in front of them. The guide was moving, people were shuffling, it was eerie and fascinating. The air was cold.
    Palfrey reached the wall, felt along it, and tip-toed along, with Drusilla close, stumbling over feet, trying to accustom himself to the darkness. It was not easy, nor would it be easy for Snub.
    Palfrey bumped into the wall. Then he saw a glimmer of light and a moment later they were in sight of the entrance. He kept to the side, so that if Snub were suspicious and followed them he could not see them outlined against the light. Half-way along, he paused. There was no sound of footsteps.
    ‘Snub is enjoying himself,’ murmured Palfrey. ‘We’re all right now.’
    They were breathless when they reached the green cottage. There was one welcome sight: the queue had gone. Palfrey glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly a quarter to three. In spite of his assurance to Drusilla, he was worried in case Kyle had become impatient.
    They went in, and saw McDonald sitting in a corner, drinking tea and reading a newspaper. He glanced up and winked. Palfrey winked back.
    ‘What-ho!’ squawked the parrot. ‘Time for tea!’
    ‘Oh, hallo,’ said Palfrey. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much room here, old lady.’
    There was no room at all, but a woman came bustling through a doorway and said that there was room in the garden, if they would like it.
    A few large coloured umbrellas, faded by weather, were dotted about among garden chairs and tables. It was cold enough, but half a dozen couples and a small party had dared the weather, and the sun was shining straight into the garden.
    In the far corner sat a man, alone, almost bald, with a nutcracker face. .
    He looked up and saw Palfrey.
    He frowned.
    It was only the slightest knitting of his brow, and might have been accidental, but Palfrey took its meaning. This was Kyle, but he did not want to be recognized yet. Palfrey led Drusilla to a table from-which he could watch the man, and, when they were seated, explained.
    ‘I suppose it means he’s watched,’ said Drusilla.
    ‘Yes. Not an easy job to spot the villain.’
    In the cave there had been an element of amusement at getting rid of Snub. All that was changed. The man Palfrey had met on Wenlock Hill had been a merry soul, akin to McDonald. This man looked ill-tempered, solitary, and as hard as his weather beaten face. He was in the middle-thirties, Palfrey judged.
    The woman came up with a loaded tray, walking up the steps as if they were gentle slopes. She made a bee-line for the Palfreys.
    As she turned away after serving their meal –
    ‘Hey, missus!’ the nut-cracker man spoke, and Palfrey frowned, for his accent was not American but broad Lancashire. ‘Hey, missus,’ he repeated for all those present to

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